


Homecoming in Darkness

by FJBryan



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:36:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FJBryan/pseuds/FJBryan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's dark, it's late, and Bodie just wants to get his head down. Things don't go according to plan, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming in Darkness

Homecoming in Darkness

 

At two in the morning, the last thing Bodie wanted to do was think. He was tired, exhausted really, worn down by the undercover op of the last two weeks, playing at arms dealing. Bodie didn’t have to work too hard at getting into that character—hell, he’d sold guns in Africa more than once, and that had taught him plenty—and anything he didn’t know from experience, he’d picked up from Marty over the years.

But he was no undercover man, not like Doyle. Doyle could put on another identity like a second skin and barely notice it. Sell fruit off a barrow or pimp for hookers on street corners, he’d fit right in no matter the job. ‘Twas all easy for Ray. Bodie never felt that same comfort in another identity, maybe because he’d had to live under false names in the Congo and Jordan, and do it for months at a time. It could mess with your mind, all that false-identity stuff, and he preferred to let Ray be their undercover expert.

Every so often, though, Cowley needed him to go in deep, for some skill Ray couldn’t fake. When he had to, Bodie tried to focus on the details, the things surrounding him that helped set the new identity, let him lose himself the way Doyle seemed to. For Bodie, the change in personality worked best with props. Like that op last year: throw him in a doss house, he went back to the ciggies, left off shaving, skipped a bath or three. Hated it, the whole time, but when Cowley ordered, Bodie obeyed. This time it had been better, playing at gun running, meant he was a man with the readies and not slow to spend ‘em. This op had been a doddle, really, all dress up, a flash car and a ritzy hotel room that Cowley had to pay for…brought a smile to Bodie’s lips, just thinking about _that_ , now. They’d nabbed the bad guys, ten days ahead of schedule, and once the full report was written and typed, read and explained, reviewed for the second and then the third time to his boss’s satisfaction, Cowley had _finally_ given him a ‘well done, mon,’ before shoving him out the door to go home.

At two in the morning.

As if he wanted to go back to his flat after living in the lap of luxury for two weeks. The Savoy ran to clean sheets, soft beds, room service, hot and cold running French maids who hadn’t let him lack for anything, _mais oui, monsieur, mais oui, it would be mon plaisir!_ for his every little whim. No way could he go back to Chelsea and the tiny little flat that CI5 accommodation thought befitted his status as a mere agent. There’d be no food, well, none he’d consider eating after a two-week absence, a stack of dirty laundry to contend with, and neither heat nor hot water waiting—Doyle wouldn’t have been round to switch things on for him today, since the op was supposed to run another ten days yet.

_Doyle._

And there was his answer. He could go to Ray’s. There’d be food in the fridge, clean sheets for the sofa, and hot water for a shower before he turned in.

With luck, his partner might even be awake, so they could talk a while. He’d missed talking to Ray, the stupid little things they talked about all the time, pubs and footie and the latest gossip about everybody else walking the halls of CI5. Bodie’s had to do without, though, the whole time that the undercover gig was running. Cowley had put Ray on a different op while Bodie was at the Savoy, and made Anson his contact for the daily information drops instead—nobody noticed one more cigar-smoking stooge, losing at cards in the gambling den Bodie had frequented as part of his cover. It’d be good to talk with Ray, find out what he’d been working on for two weeks. Bodie spun the Capri’s steering wheel and set off for Hampstead.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Two weeks of separation, and at first, Doyle had heaved a sigh of relief. He’d been cutting things closer and closer with Bodie, anxious to hold his partner’s attention but not wanting to give anything away. The last three months, knowing that he’d fallen for his partner, had been the closest thing to torture that Doyle ever wanted to experience. It was maddening, stretching his nerves into thin ropes and then twisting them tighter, every time they went on duty. To see Bodie’s well-loved features every day, and yet be unable—no, too lily-livered—to say anything to him. Ray’d tried not to get too protective, turned his work routine into a madcap romp to make Bodie laugh, but he hadn’t been covering his tracks well enough. Other eyes were on Doyle, and they knew something was up: Cowley pulled him off the gun-running job they’d started together and gave Anson the task of liaising with Bodie. What did Doyle get? Files.

Two weeks of separation, two weeks of files, for all the good it did. It did help Doyle’s nerves recover, a bit, but the deep-seated need to have Bodie in his bed didn’t go away. It just stopped showing up at CI5 headquarters in the shape of his blue-eyed, devil-may-care partner. And come knockin’ off time? Work stopped, making the Bodie-sized-hole in his life that much more obvious, and there was nothing to stop him from turning the situation over and over in his mind. When Doyle went home at night, a different sort of tension took hold of him.

At first, it was just a recurring dream, waking him in the middle of the night. He rolled over, and found Bodie asleep in his bed. A beautiful, unobtainable dream that had Ray grabbing his cock in the end, giving himself the kind of release that in the end was joyless, fruitless. His body was unwound, but the dream remained. A few days later, a few more days without his Bodie, and Doyle’s nights were no longer so placid. In his dream, he rolled over and Bodie wasn’t there; Bodie had left him, had gone away without knowing how much Ray cared for him. And truth be told, Ray felt that Bodie undercover was exactly that—he’d gone away without knowing that Ray loved him, needed him.

In the second week of their separation, Doyle’s midnight dreams took on a stranger hue. Bodie came back from the op, and wouldn’t talk to him. Finally, Ray threatened to punch him unless he said what was bothering him. Miracle of miracles, Bodie reluctantly revealed that he had always wanted Ray. Their joyful reunion in dreamland helped Ray masturbate his way to completion—which was when he woke up, once more without Bodie. The orgasm felt better, but the aftermath was depressing in the extreme. Bodie would never say those words, and it was a coward who asked the other man to be braver than he was. Ray felt more alone than ever.

Last night, he’d taken their picture off the fireplace mantel, the one Murphy snapped at the end of Jack Crane’s latest training simulation when they were both bone-weary and happy as hell to be done with him. It was the only picture that showed the two of them together, and to Ray, it was how he felt about Bodie all the time—two mates smiling like lunatics at each other, covered in mud and half-ruined camo gear, no one and nothing able to get between them. Neither of them were cowards, both of them were strong and able to do whatever job got thrown their way. Ray carried the picture into the bedroom, propped it up on the side table, and looked at photograph-Bodie until he finally dropped off, thinking about what it meant to be brave, what it could cost him. That night, his dream was subtly different from all the nights before.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Bodie quietly reset the locks and lowered his suitcase to the hall floor. No need to turn on lights, he could navigate Doyle’s apartment blindfolded, he’d been there so many times. All he really needed were some sheets from the cupboard in the hall, and he could commandeer a spare pillow from Doyle’s bed since his partner was no doubt already sleeping. Sheets obtained, Bodie went to the bedroom door, pushing it open just wide enough to step in and carry off one of Ray’s pillows.

Just wide enough to see a man in the throes of a wet dream, erection tenting the bedsheet. Just long enough for Bodie to begin to smile at Ray’s subconscious mind and the lucky woman driving him to such heights of passion. Just loud enough to hear Ray murmur, “Please, Bodie.”

_Please, Bodie??_

Half-plea, half-formed thought, but the words were enough to rivet Bodie to the spot. This was one conversation he needed to hear the end of. What did Ray need so badly? In the doorway, he answered softly, “ ’m right here, Ray.”

Doyle’s face relaxed, and Bodie could see the powerful forearm beneath the sheet, the suggestion of a hand, and then…Ray was stroking himself. As the erection bobbed up and down, more words, slurred with sleep. He couldn’t hear all of them, at least not distinctly, but Bodie thought it sounded like “how much…want you?” _Something about how much Ray…._ His mind seized up, unable to get it to process anything logically beyond that point.

Desire.

Ray wanted him. So much that his subconscious was putting words in his mouth, or so it seemed. That erection looked…looked…..Christ, Ray wanted him.

And Bodie knew what he would be getting. Knew exactly what Doyle looked like, sheet or no sheet. And with a flash of insight about himself, knew that whatever Ray wanted, he wanted too. He was happiest with Ray, more lonely without him around, and never enjoyed life more than when he was with his partner. The whole undercover op had gone flat without Ray there to liven it up, make fun of his big-spender persona. The decision, when Bodie made it, came in the blink of an eye. Sheets deposited on the dresser, Bodie silently began to undress. He didn’t want Ray to wake up, not yet, not until he could be there beside him. He was out of his clothing in seconds, and then he watched, listened, as Ray moaned and rolled his face to one side, his neck and shoulders tensing as pleasure crept closer.

Bodie slid into the bed, grateful that there was some room for him there, and pulled the sheet up. Then he turned to Ray, and only then had a moment’s hesitation. Should he wake Ray? Or simply join in, while the man was asleep? Before his mind could come up with an answer, his hand made the decision for him: it reached over and slid around Ray’s waist, arcing downwards to where his partner’s hand was pleasuring himself. Bodie covered Ray’s hand with his own, shifted his weigh closer to Ray’s side, and began nuzzling Ray’s neck while his hand took over the task of increasing Ray’s delight. His nose strayed into his partner’s curls, leaving Bodie’s lips free to taste an earlobe, where he sucked lightly. He sensed immediately when Ray came out of his dream, the change in his breathing and the sudden tension in his body.

Bodie didn’t waste any time: he wanted those delicious moments to continue, as soon as possible. So he whispered into Doyle’s ear, “You were doing such a good job of seducing me in your dreams, I figured I should just get started out here in the real world.” The stiffness in Ray’s body began to relax, but it wasn’t gone entirely. Bodie gave Ray’s jaw the briefest kiss, and added, “Hope you don’t mind.” And the tense body encircled in his arms unclenched a bit more.

“Mind? You think I’d mind?” The words came out as a near-croak.

“Hard to tell. Sometimes things are better in dreams. More…flexible.”

Ray used his other hand to lift Bodie’s fingers away from his cock, and turned slightly so that he could face his partner, even if it was so dark he could barely see him. “Flexible? ‘m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, you can change lovers every night, in dreams. Things are always simpler when you’re asleep.”

Doyle didn’t need second sight to know what Bodie meant—that unlike fantasies, everything was a lot more complicated in reality. They had jobs. Distractions. Danger. Real emotions. Anger. Jealousy. Darkness paradoxically made those problems more apparent, and his mind skipped over them, speeding past them all to the fact that Bodie was in his bed now, passionate, kissing and holding him. The words Doyle was thinking were out of his mouth before he could make them more coherent. “I know what I want, and once I have it, I don’t give it away. Not fickle, like some.”

_Like me, you mean?_ Bodie’s hand found Ray’s, and held it, strength within strength, as he spoke quietly. “I may seem faithless, but that’s just because I didn’t have what I wanted.” His grip tightened. “I’ve found it, and unless you make me, I’m not turning loose.”

Ray had a good answer for that. He leaned forward, into the darkness, and found Bodie’s lips with his own, a homecoming he hadn’t known was possible. And after that, both men did what they were best at, always: they put thoughts into action, and let bodies speak for what their hearts felt.


End file.
